


Gunmetal Skies

by Brighid



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brighid/pseuds/Brighid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stillness before the storm</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunmetal Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Written early in series.

The skies are gunmetal grey, and there is a stillness in the air that is, he knows, at its heart a lie. Stillness is only ever a ... false front. A distraction. A lure. 

Things are never actually still.

Clark, for example, standing at the window, is as motionless as the air, but Lex knows that is perhaps the greatest lie of all. There is no stillness in Clark. Especially not now. Lex suspects it would be more accurate to say Clark is just ... moving so fast the eye can't even begin to register it, and so it doesn't even try. He doesn't even try.

 

Instead, he glances down to the bright blue bottle sweating in his hand, and he wants to press it to the back of his neck, to his temples, because the humidity is so deep, so oppressive it's sunk through centuries-old stone and right into his very bones. Wants to lick the column of it, to taste glass and the faint tang of water and ionized air. Fine hairs on his body, the ones covered when the sky fell, they lift and shiver along him.

He enjoys the feeling, even as it makes him shudder, makes him twitch. It's like orgasm a step too far, a touch too much. Lex has spent so many years perfecting the art of too much that he's sunk almost to minimalism these days -- he only indulges in excess at times like these.

When storms are about to break.

He hands Clark the bottle he's been drinking from, smiles as he watches that plum mouth stroke the cobalt curve of the bottle's lip. Smiles wider when Clark presses the cool slickness to the hollow of his throat. 

"There'll be winds. Thunder," Clark says with farmboy certainty. "Don't think we'll get any funnel clouds, but it's still going to be pretty bad." He turns so he stands with his back to the window, and the dull brightness surrounds him like a corona. Lex cannot really see Clark's eyes, but he feels them on him, the gaze as palpable as a touch. He shudders again, the taste of ozone on his tongue. "You could come over to my house, Lex. We've got a storm cellar."

There's something in the words, in their offering, that echoes like a thunderclap in the hollows of Lex's belly, and he nods, not saying anything. Clark moves away from the window, takes his hand and the touch goes through him, floods and crackles and oversets everything he thought he knew about himself.

He thought this would be a challenge. A game.

But this is a force of nature.

He suspects he's going to be caught out in the storm. He finds that he rather likes the idea. So he grabs Clark's hand hard and pulls until the air between them is dense and heavy and wet with promise and his smile... his smile is all about what lies beneath the stillness.

)0(


End file.
